Operation: Burnside
by Corrupted Champion
Summary: Originally a one-shot. Following the death of Albert Wesker and Excella Gionne, Steve Burnside must flee. He has no idea where to go or whether any of his friends are still alive; all he knows is one thing, survival and strength. Now he must fight to survive and find a way to escape as the BSAA closes in.
1. Zero Files

Author's note: this is not what I had in mind for a second chapter—and to a certain extent, or basically, it isn't really. I had been trying to make one before deciding to start over on a new minor story arc when this idea came to me. Inspired while reading through some Lovecraft stories and remembering a few bits from the Mass Effect series and some other games. It's mostly meant to be where I could always come back and add new stuff to give more background for Steve that I could use in later additions to this initial one-shot; and to prevent any continuity errors. Though I'm sure it can sometime be unavoidable.

Think of this as the story's extras: where you could learn something not always entirely related to story but offers insight into other facts about Steve and his life after the events of Code Veronica.

* * *

**Zero Files (and short-stories)**

**[From the Personal Files of Albert Wesker and Excella Gionne]**

**Caleb "Archangel" Wilson **

**Epilogue of Steve's Retrieval during the events of Code Veronica**

**December 31st, 1998**

"I found him," Archangel alerted the other operatives. Finding the body of a young boy in his late teens with the beacon Wesker left for them to find.  
Shooting the suppressed barrels of his full-auto CZ-75s and slashing his swords through the remaining zombies to get in his way. Leaving the section of Umbrella's Antarctica facility spattered with spots and stains of blood, as well as amputated limbs, severed heads and many other littered body appendages, along the floor and walls; clearing the room for the retrieval team with Deadshot's help.

As the H.C.F. collected the corpse of Steve Burnside into a biohazard body bag, Caleb was dumbfounded as he lamented on the stranger's fate, and began thinking to himself: _this is just the begining. _Something arduous laid in store for this man, and Caleb Wilson could feel it in his bones.

**[Audio &amp; Record Logs]**

**Lazarus Director's Log 1-[Kara Lawson]:** **January 1st, 1999.**

Test subject has been recovered and arrived, but the damage is far worse than initially anticipated.

In addition to a hole through the torso and internal injuries sustained in impalement, subject has also sustained exposure to cold temperature that could affect the brain. Despite the extent of the physical trauma suffered, Jenkins assures me that subject zero is salvageable.

Thankfully the regeneration of the Veronica virus has replicated enough cells and enough of the missing body mass for us to work with.

The Lazarus project will proceed as planned. Only delayed by a few hours.

**Lazarus Director's Log 2-[Kara Lawson]: January 19th, 1999.**

We've nearly completed physical reconstruction of the subject's remains, thanks in part to T-veronica virus' interference of decay by preserving its host, but we still need an approximate estimation on the the mental and neurological functions before proceeding.

Trent and Wesker made our orders crystal clear: revive Steve Burnside to the man, or slightly man, as the case may be, he was before his death—the same mind and principles. The personality would be considered a bonus but not necessary.

If we alter his identity in any way that the characteristics to help him survive the outbreak on Rockfort Island could be lost, the Lazarus project will have been a failure. I refuse to allow our outcome to meet such a scenario.

**Lazarus Log Update 1-[Jenkins]: March 2nd, 1999.**

Even with exceptional progress Kara still manages to remain an anomaly, to me.

From the perspective as the project's director, she should be all giddy and ecstatic, jumping for joy at all that's been accomplished. But instead she's the same ice queen as ever.

Maybe she's worried Burnside could be another of Wesker's disciples and new favorite. Or she's just a plain, bold-faced, cold hearted bitch...hard to say anymore.

**Lazarus Log Update 2-[Kara Lawson]: June 7th, 1999.**

Progress has been slow...yet subject shows signs of recovery. Slowly. Vital Organs are once again functional, and there have been signs of rudimentary neurological activity.

In an effort to accelerate subject's recovery, I've authorized experimentation with the healing factor of the Veronica virus and the possibility of using the Wesker virus. Hopeful this could attribute to a more speedy recovery at a more desired pace. Initial results are proving to be promising.

**Lazarus Log Update 3-[Jenkins]: September 15th, 1999.**

The cost of this fiasco is astronomical-over four billion dollars so far, by my last estimate. All just to bring some stiff back from the dead without the craving for human flesh. But nobody seems to care that we've gone over budget.

I don't know where the boss or Trent gets the money for this clusterfuck...maybe it's better not to. Wish he'd throw a bit of it my way.

**Lazarus Final Log-[Kara Lawson]: February 3rd, 2000.**

It's taken us an agonizingly long substantial time, with some set back in the recovering skin tissue, but the Lazarus projects is at its final phase. We've stabilized subject's heart rate and maintained life-support, all we have to do is wait for him to regain consciousness. The rest of the program is already being re-purposed and prepared to ship off all non-essential personnel and resources of the Lazarus cell off Arkham.

Once Raven completes his review of the subject's vital signs and gives a full health report, and green lights the clearance, Burnside will be presented to Doctor Reid for a psychological evaluation and cognition test.

It would be too premature to guess, right now. Yet, I feel compelled to state that the obvious fact that Lazarus has nearly succeeded. Though I've taken great pains to keep this thought to myself, as this uncharacteristic attitude would be seen, as if, I've suffered a mental breakdown. To any of my colleagues.

For now, we keep Burnside under sedation when he's not in cryo-stasis-bringing him out of stasis for the occasional checkup. The matter of this duration depends on when he's fully awake. I would estimate this to be soon. He has already shown awareness to his surroundings and reacting to outside stimuli once or twice in stasis.

All we can do is wait.

**Awakening: March 15th, 2000.**

[Albert Wesker and Kara Lawson appear in the video. Both standing near a cryostasis chamber.]

WESKER: "He looks healthy enough, to me, Kara. Open in it."

KARA: "Yes, sir. Just stand clear. We still don't know how he'll react to his surroundings." [Kara then slides her key card in the slot.]

[A barely recognizable Steve falls out of the chamber with leagues of water.]

STEVE: [coughing and gagging for air in shock] "Where...Where am I...Where is she?"

[Albert Wesker leans over, bending down on one knee.]

WESKER: "She?" [Realizing what his new prisoner meant] "She does not matter now. I do."

[Steve struggles to move before finally breathing normal again. Wesker then looks to some of his men.]

WESKER: "Take him away!"

[Two H.C.F. members pick Steve up by the arms and drag him out.]

STEVE: "What's going on!? Where am I!?"

**Psychological Assessment Log-[Dr. Reid]: March 21st, 2000.**

Against my better judgement, I compiled my evaluation of Steve Burnside, or Subject Zero, to determine his mental condition. Reluctantly, per the behest of Wesker, to deduce any weaknesses.

On the surface Steve behaves like the average American teenager. Wearing the facade of a calm but unsure disposition, when dealing with strangers. Underneath this extremity lies a damaged mind...or what could be considered, by some, a tortured soul. Dying only to be taken back from the clutches of death has taken its toll on the patient's mind. He exhibits what could very well be PTSD, is anxious whenever questioned on the details of his memory before death.

The poor kid's family is apparently all dead. His Mother killed by Umbrella, and the Father (Mr. Burnside), a leak in the company, became infected and was put down by his son like a rapped dog—To protect a friend. And has no siblings, or any other immediate family to come looking for him. All of these have left deep psychological scars. As such, it could also provide us a vulnerability we can exploit to bring him to our side. A few pokes at his developing abandonment issues and some offer of camaraderie or kinship and he could be pushed into become one of us. He also reacted to the name Claire with hope and shock. The extent of the intimacy he had with this woman I was unable to determine; he refused to divulge any information when questioned on the matter. Any friends or associates would be unlikely on account of his mistrust of anyone but not an impossibility.

He is indifferent to violence. No matter the amount of vile, bloody, or precarious standards of the horrible conditions he has escaped from, Steve remained emotionless; unaffected. This is...interesting.

Aside from a mild sense of juvenile humor, Steve is like a blank slate. Thanks to Lazarus, his personality and sense of morals can be molded by himself and whoever takes the initiative to lead him. I say this more out of caution than opportunity.

**First Interview of Subject Zero: March 15th, 2000**

[A broken shell of Steve appears on a recorded video. Still visibly wet, he is being seated to a metallic table with a towel around him.]

DR. REID: "Good evening, Subject Zero."

SUBJECT ZERO: "..."

DR. REID: "Don't feel like talking, still? You're not going anywhere until you've given me what we need. Even though I would like to."

SUBJECT ZERO: "Wh-What do you want to know?"

DR. REID: "Your name, for starters."

STEVE: "Steve. My name is Steve Burnside."

DR. REID: "Okay, Steve, what happened to you?"

STEVE: "I was a prisoner of people like you...on Rockfort Island. For maybe one or two years, possibly more...after some time passed it felt like an eternity passed as days went by. Then one night something terrible happened: The door to my cell opened and I found the island overrun with monsters. An-And I know how that sounds, but a couple of days ago I was a corpse. So that in comparison is miniature on the freak scale."

DR. REID: "How did you come to being infected with the Veronica virus?"

STEVE: "Claire and I—Oh God, what happened to Claire?"

DR. REID: "Who's Claire?"

STEVE: "WHERE IS CLAIRE!"

DR. REID: "Steve, calm down."

STEVE: "WWWHERE IS SSSHHHEEE?!"

[End of Video.]

**Various Sections of Albert Wesker's Journal Pertaining to Steve Burnside: No specific month or day, beginning in 2002 and onward.**

Work with Steve has taken a spectacular turn. With Jack Krauser joining my ever-growing network, I have begun using a method suggested by my newest recruit: reprogram Steve.

This will be no simple task, as the last two years have taught me well. Pathetically, He still lives under the delusion that Chris and his little sister will come to his rescue. We shall shatter his allusions. Break down his identity, toy with his own guilt and self betrayals, and ultimately mold him into my new best man. Just like Chris was, in another lifetime. And he will become my ace in the hole, for when Claire Redfield complicates matters again.

Ever since my victory over RED QUEEN and the fall of Umbrella, one universal principle has always proven key to my survival and our success: only through more power will we thrive. Steve Burnside will become my Agent, my Agent Zero.

His exposure to the source of my own power has left Steve requiring a daily dosage of PG67A/W, as I, myself, do. Though he require a more stronger quantity of dosage because of the Veronica virus.

Its affects on him differ from how it treats me. His youth leaves him exposed to raging hormones and the serum enhances this. If it had not for the isolation of his room, which has been treated more like a cell, and his own self-control, some of the women in our facility could have spent some nights bow-legged.

Fortunately, the viruses in his system make it almost impossible to conceive children. Just barely.

I do not know whether to call it Fortune, Providence, or just luck that Ada has remained under my employ at this junction—I, still, doubt this is of her own accord. But have allowed her stay for her continued usefulness. Her contribution to manipulating Steve is undeniable. With Steve's inability to differ between romantic feelings and lust, amplified by the effects of the daily dosage, it was easy enough for Ada to seduce him; under the guise that she was training him to seduce an asset. On my orders.

These will help to make him mine, and like Archangel, one of the best operatives we have ever seen.

**Burnside's Brain Wash—Week 1:**

WESKER: "How do you feel, Steve?"

STEVE: [coldly sarcastic] "Aside from the pain from the shots you force me to take everyday, and feeling like I want to screw the first woman I see? Great, just Great."

Wesker: "Being returned from the icy grip of death is never cheep—And you owe that debt to me, Steve."

STEVE: "I didn't want this. I don't want to be here, I want to leave."

WESKER: "Too late, friend. You're beyond turning back to your old life. The Veronica-virus in your body and veins guarantee you'll never be the man you were before."

STEVE: "It doesn't matter what you say. My friends will come for me. Claire—she can find me. Chris, too."

WESKER: "Your faith in them is almost adorable. And a little sad, Steve. The cavalry's not coming to the rescue."

STEVE: "You're lying!"

WESKER: "No, I'm not. You are like me: a monster in the eyes of the world. To them, you're just a corpse not worth burying. Forgotten, abandoned."

STEVE: "No, no, no...no...no..."

WESKER: [intimidating] "Your life in meaningless, worthless, no merit."

**Burnside's Brain Wash—Week 2:**

STEVE: "Claire would not abandon me!"

WESKER: [cynically] "Wouldn't she?"

STEVE:[dead silence]

WESKER:"You are a patricide, after all. In some circles, people would consider you worse than me."

STEVE: "I didn't have a choice."

WESKER: "Of course you did, and you killed your own father."

STEVE: [more dead silence]

WESKER: "Everyone is in this life for themselves. You can either live with it, or continue being used and pathetic: your choice."

**Burnside's Brain Wash—Week 3:**

WESKER: "Back here again, I see."

STEVE:[mute]

WESKER: "Come now Steve, I miss our special little chats."

STEVE: [panting] "...What do you want, Wesker?"

WESKER: "Not much...I just for the world to bow down to my whim. Though I'd gladly settle for you agreeing to work for me."

STEVE: "Why would I do that? I have nothing left to lose."

WESKER: "I think you'll find that it's only after you've lost everything that you're free of all life's burdens. Why languish in here when you know I won't let your out, otherwise?"

STEVE: "You have nothing to offer me."

WESKER: "I can give your life purpose, and meaning to this hell you've been left in."

STEVE: "I'd rather waste away as another prisoner, again."

WESKER: "Do you really want to spend your new life confined here, of all places?"

**Interval 01**

**Sometime in 2002**

"Hello, Burnside." Ada Wong candidly welcomed Steve into the room after he entered the solitary space, where Caleb would typically train his new recruits, now opened as a spacious vacancy for him and her to do as they wished—showing a disposition to be met with adversity reception by Steve's cold expression that appeared to be more akin to a cynical gaze.

Remaining dead silent for a short period of time, Ada's new pupil refused to utter a peep, showing no emotions, made no facial gestures of interest to the sultry of her personality or lithe body; instead offered only the presentation of a dour dramaturgical self. Keeping the space between them even, as he maintained no gradual change. "Is there a reason why I'm here?" Steve asked, distant from the woman both emotionally and physically.

Ada responded by informing the tensely stiff young man "I've been instructed to show you the tools of industrial espionage." Following up with a step closer to him, "So we'll start by..." only for Steve to step back—a momentary inconvenience to be sure for a sighing Ada. "You don't like me very much, do you Mr. Burnside." the suave spy asked more softly.

"It's nothing personal, though you do have a rather notorious reputation." Steve replied, remaining uncertain of her. Reflecting sadly "Not that it matters, anyway." out-loud to where he could be heard. Not that Ada seemed to take much offense to his comment or surprise to his behavior, given what she knows: after Steve's departure from the Arkham vicinity the absence of Director Kara's calming presence had left his life with a melancholy hole and resorted to falling back into resuming the slump of his old bad habits of brooding with depression; the trauma from his memories in death's grip was bound to gradually resurface. The mental shock sinking back in slowly but surely to cause a relapse of depression. "So why do you need to show me? Caleb normally works with me in training."

"Because, if Wesker did want you as another of his stormtroopers to play cannon fodder, Wilson would be here—but he's not." Ada concluded the final appends to their brief conversation, before bringing herself into Steve personal space. Telling him "So now I'm going to show you how to be a spy and a operative, and if any of my activities make you uncomfortable you'll have to suck it up and push through the discomfort. Kay?"

...Days Later...

"Okay Steve, the long arduous part's finished. Now we move-on to undercover work and securing assets." Ada told Steve, both relishing the fact that they were done with the easy part made long. Steve made no argument on the matter or complaints. The past month had grown tedious as far as he was concerned, and was giddy to be through.

For the past few days Ada would have Steve performing runs along her glorified training sessions, learning a variation of operative skill sets in the process. Between her mentorship and his time spent with Krauser learning close quarter combat, Steve was surprised he had any time to breathe. Learning the portion of a operative's life involving action and excitement. The requirements of a spy's social skills were marginally more difficult for Steve to grasp and advance through, but with a little force of will and determination that, too, ceased to be an issue.

As Ada would soon help Steve to realize: winning the confidence of others is only a matter of presenting himself in the right way to the target. As she often phrased the method "Use secure confidence and what a person likes and their weaknesses to your own advantage."

**Interrogation of Walter Keller**

**Date: April 22, 2009**—**Session 1**

**Subject information: Former Tricell Scientist; Captured while hiding in Somalia.**

**Conducted by Leon S. Kennedy**

Keller: "So this is how Taskforce Checkmate conducts interrogations on enemies? I'm disappointed; very, Agent Kennedy."

Kennedy: "I could have done worse, Dr. Keller. I wanted to do away with you and the other Tricell employees, but was out voted."

Keller: "Am I to assume the subject of the vote is why a select group of us were not marched off in dregs to a deep, deep hole with the rest?"

Kennedy: "Assume however you like, Mengele. My colleagues are just more interested in the nature of your work than I am."

Keller: "My work? You'll have to be specific; I conducted various experiments for Albert over the course of a decade."

Kennedy: "Your enhancement drug, a virus supplement given to most of Wesker's super soldiers. What is it called and how did you make it? We want to know what makes it tic."

Keller: "Oh, is that why you and your merry men band hunted me down and flew me in first class from Somalia? I did't invent the shot, not completely. The syringes were those PG67A/W shots Excella would administrate every so often. The virus in their systems, however, was something I helped to gradually perfect."

Kennedy: "The same virus Archangel and Agent Zero have in their systems now, you mean."

Keller: "The very same."

Kennedy: "Elaborate—now!"

Keller: "We just called him Zero, just to be clear—anyway, the virus was a combination of what we had accumulated at the time. The Wesker virus and T-Veronica virus were combined with a virus Archangel was exposed to called Mirakuru. The result produced Zero and Archangel as the finest operatives Albert had to work with."

Kennedy: "Mirakuru?"

Keller: "A serum that was developed in Japan. It's been speculated that during the second World War various countries rediscovered the stairway to the sun. Mirakuru came about as a result of one such experiment. Years later Umbrella rekindled tests on the substance when Archangel was exposed to it during a biohazaed, and outside of the few members of the H.C.F., it was one of the seldom viruses Wesker never took."

Kennedy: "What happens if they run out of this PG67A? The same end as Wesker?"

Keller: "No. The side-effects differ among each of the individual soldiers, but I doubt it will be an issue for them. They'll always be able to make more, or find someone to help them make more."

**Session 2**

**Date: April 29, 2009**

Kennedy: "What do you know about the man Wesker called Zero?"

Keller: "Think of him as Albert's protegee—trained to do everything Wesker could in the field during H.C.F. missions. Then later, after Ada 'left' the company, he became our best spies as well as assassin; next only to Archangel."

Kennedy: "What is his real name? Who is he really?"

Keller: "Unknown: we just called him test subject zero and subject zero during the Lazarus experiment, but Albert would seldomly refer to him as S.B. in a few of the correspondence messages to me and Director Lawson. To the best of my knowledge, no one outside the small circle of Albert Wesker, Excella Gionne, Archangel, Director Kara Lawson and Ada Wong, should even know that information. Though it's also possible there could be others among the free agents we employed over the years to put two and two together; again, to the _best_ of my knowledge."

Kennedy: "Why would those details be guarded so tightly? And why in the hell would Wesker give Ada access to that kind of informarion?"

Keller: "Don't know, maybe cause it's a secret. Top Secret—real hush, hush kind of thing. Albert knew because he was one of the pair who recovered him; Archangel knew for the same reason as Albert; Excella and Lawson learned the truth after working with Zero for some time; and Ada was _never_ trusted enough by any of us with secrets, so my guess was she secured it through Zero while she was still his mentor _or_ Albert was forced to share with Wong because he thought she would have an easier time training him if she understood his assorted past. Anyone else to learn the truth would have been field agents like him."

Kennedy: "So you never heard anything remotely relevant to his background during Lazarus?"

Keller: "Whoa, whoa, hold up there Cowboy. For the record and setting some facts straight, I only worked on the Lazarus project in a minor capacity as a consultant for the virus to Lawson, who was a active hand at the time. So no, I was never around to learn anything critical."

Keller: "Other than he was recovered from the ice caps of the Antarctic? Nothing."


	2. Operation Burnside

**Operation Burnside**

**The Marshlands, West Africa, March 7, 2009**

_I'm so screwed_, Twenty-eight year old Steve Burnside thought while running through the Marshlands. His black clothing was similar to the ones Wesker wore under his black trench coat, with a pair of black gloves and skull cap to cover his hair. As well as two shoulder holsters on him that held to Beretta 92 FSs that were modified to resemble and perform as Wesker's Samurai Edge. A weapon Steve could never help but to admire. One exception to his weapons were the compensators he attached.

Steve christened his weapons the "Fire Eater" after a political party from the time leading up to the civil war. It made sense; he was going to be using these weapons to commit horrible crimes for Wesker, so it only seemed logical to name them after the idiots who had a hand in starting one of the most horrible wars in American history. _How could this happen_, Steve thought to himself as he continued to run on-into the night, his boots mashing into the ground with great force, as he was running through the Marshlands. He could feel the wind going through his short-cut auburn hair as he did so.

He was unaware of the fate of his commanders Albert Wesker and Excella Gionne. He believed them to be dead. He may not have any confirmation to this, but he did not need much to believe it. The BSAA, more specifically Chris, were not known for being _easy_ on Bioterrorists.

It had only been a few hours since Wesker first took off, aboard the ship carrying their stealth bomber, to spread the Uroboros virus and soon word reached back to the base that Chris Redfield and Sheva Alomar were on-board the vessel, as well as the news that Jill had been freed of the P30 placed on her chest. Soon after Steve lost contact with Excella, and then after Wesker took off in the bomber he learned it crashed in a nearby volcano.

"I swear if I ever get the chance, I'm going to make Chris pay for this." He said in a vague threat to the absent enemy. To say that Steve hated the older Redfield, at this point, more than ever would an understatement.

He could only remember a few things from his life after waking up from the cold grip of death. Revived-changed—and once again alive, he could barely remember much of his old life. He knew that Wesker found him; he was the one to revive Steve to the land of the living. Wesker was the reason he was still alive, the Redfield siblings forgot about him: they condemned him to a future as nothing more than a corpse to be used as a test subject, and to be subjected to experimentation. Then Wesker pushed Raven and Lawson to progress the experiments farther before injecting the Wesker virus into his system.

The Tyrant-Veronica virus that he died with was still in his system, its power still existed in him, but so did the Wesker virus. He was stronger and faster than he was before, more than any human could hope to be. His wounds would heal up in a matter of seconds; his blood would combust into fire when removed from his body and on his command. He could not be killed, he was invincible.

Steve loved Claire; he loved her more than any other woman he knew before. Then in the end he died telling her this, and he thought it was over. Part of him wished it really was. Both his parents were dead; he had noone now, and was all alone in the world before dying. Then he was alive once more with his fate in the hands of a man he believed to be as bad as Umbrella and yet, now, he no longer loathed Wesker like he once did.

He spent a year believing Claire or her brother would come rescue him, but they never did; and he cursed them for it.

From the very moment he was given freedom, Steve continued to always tell himself if he ever saw one of the Redfield siblings again, it would not end well. Wesker made him into someone he could barely recognize when he looked in the mirror, but he gave him purpose—a reason to live. He gave him the power to survive in the world and he was loyal to him for it.

Now it was all gone, once more everything good in his life was dead, again. Wesker, the man who trained him to control his powers and looked up to like an older-brother was more than likely now dead.

"Everything I ever loved is gone." Steve said to himself, trying to understand how this happened.

"Caleb, where did you and the others go off to?" He asked the absent friends nowhere to be found.

His best friend and other friends and fellow operatives Caleb Wilson and Raymond Vester were nowhere to be found. He was genuinely concerned for Vester's well being, but was more concerned for Caleb. The two of them were as close to brothers as two best friends could ever be. Caleb left the day before for a mission in the US and Raymond went on a mission with Jessica Sherawat in the Ukraine.

His other fellows, the other enhanced operatives of the Hive/Host Capture Force. Steve was not the first- or-the last of the enhanced operatives that Wesker created, but he was more than certainly one of the more affective, stronger, and superior ones. The others were now gone from their old home. Either they were dead or left a day ahead of him, or even hours.

Then there was Excella, his lover in the casual physical relationship they frequently engaged in, was more than likely dead. He did not love her as he did Claire, but wanted to feel something other than anger and hate, and she would give it to him. Excella and he did not share an emotional level of intimacy, but Wesker would not show Excella as much affection as she wanted and even she had needs. She may have been more attracted to Wesker than Steve, but she did not consider him inferior to Wesker. He was more than a physically match for her to be attracted to and she found his intelligence to be astonishing.

So the first time Steve attempted to get to know her and learn something useful for Wesker, circumstances of the conversation led to Excella pushing him hard into a wall and began to wildly kiss him.

In her eyes he was a perfect lover when it came to sleeping with her. She would often say "So good to be with someone who can keep up."

Even now as he ran in the night he could remember the night before this all started when they shared a bottle of wine together before Steve would clear the table and they would engage in a feisty night in the small quarters of the room he used.

His mind began to wander back from her as he was slowing down in the run "Oh Excella, you may not have been my love, we may have only been lovers for the sex, but you still helped me find some measure peace." She was not a woman of good nature like Claire. In fact he could see right off the bat that she was bad, but she did not treat him as a monster like the other humans did. She was part of the reason he was stronger now.

As Steve began to stop in the Marshlands, finding the speed boat that was more than likely used by Chris to traverse the Wetlands, he soon catches a glimpse of a helicopter as if flew over him and towards the facility he was fleeing from.

"Damn BSAA dogs," he said to himself as his green eyes were starting to glow, morphing to resemble cat eyes, they were just like Wesker's-only darker.

He despised the BSAA with a passion; he wanted nothing more than to burn everything they built down. From the moment they first entered the Kijuju zone on the get-go he knew they were going to be a problem for them and Wesker, but Albert ordered him not to interfere.

Now Steve was left running from his home, as the twilight began to rise and bringing morning with it. He had no idea where to go yet, the call he made out to the other survivors had still gone unanswered since he left the base. And now he was left without his PG67A/W syringes, containing the serum used to keep the T-Veronica and Wesker virus in his system stable. He knew where to get more, and since the injections were more long lasting on him, than Wesker, he had about a week to procure more for himself.

He then takes the speed boat and prepares to take off.

**Savanna, A few hours later**

Steve remained quiet in his thoughts, taking the boat to the sight of a village where he found the very large Uroboros specimen that Chris and Sheva killed. It was still dawn when he approached the sight, but it would not be for long.

A squad of BSAA soldiers was already on the scene, so he attempted to remain out of sight and find a way out of here. Steve had no problem with swatting the BSAA flies here and now, but he was on a time table and could only go so long without his serum. But the plan to remain undetected was not fruitful, one soldier quickly spotted him.

"Over there!" a soldier shouted while pointing a finger at Steve and then aiming his weapon for his chest.

Steve did not bother to try and hide anymore. Walking out into full view as the other soldier took aim with their weapon Steve remained unfazed as he stared smugly at the men and says "Well, boys, what seems to be the problem?"

The leader of the merry band aiming weapons at Steve then says "This area, along with the rest of the Kijuju zone, is under quarantine by the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance." The man was the no nonsense kind of soldier "State your name and business here."

Steve kept his hands down at first, being smug towards the men before replying "Well I was working security at a nearby Tricell complex, but some asshole who works for the same group as you shut it down. Now I'm trying to find my way home."

Then the commander replies "Tricell is, as of now, under arrest by the BSAA and under investigation. Surrender your weapons and get on the ground, now."

"Oh come on, now, is this any way to treat a complete and total stranger." Steve said, playing his smart-ass routine. "I mean really, I have just had a lousy day and now you're goanna arrest me."

"Hey smart-ass, that wasn't a request." One of the soldiers said, aiming his weapon farther up to Steve's neck,

"Steve was adamant at first to the order before pretending to comply "Okay, okay. Take it easy." putting his hands on the handles of his weapons, as he prepares to take them out. "I mean it's not like I'm a monster or anything."

Then the soldiers watched as his eyes glowed like a true tyrant, and then one panicked and said before opening fire "He's one of them!"

"Steve took the first bullet in the chest and it healed instantly. Then he drew one of his guns and fired a shot, killing the man who put a bullet in him. The commander ordered his men to open fire and they did so. Steve did not waste much time, dodging the bullets as Wesker himself could, before firing two more shots from his pistol, killing the leader in a matter of seconds. Then drew his second weapon.

"Now this is what I call entertainment." He said, firing his weapons at the soldiers. In his time working for Wesker, Steve had come to appreciate a love of battle. He never knew anything more enjoyable than making love to a beautiful woman, like Excella, or Ada: a female agent he worked with, back when he was still working and training with his second mentor Jack Krauser—Though to be fair, he mostly slept with Ada to spite a man named Leon S. Kennedy, who he believed Claire went to for comfort after she thought he was dead. He could not really bring himself to hate the blond agent, completely, and Steve still saw Ada as a beautiful woman and an excellent partner, but part of him still felt a level of betrayal and wanted to do something about it.

His weapons claimed more-and-more victims with each passing second. His lust for battle made him one of the scariest men alive to fight. As he finished off the last of his foes he could soon hear a noise coming from a nearby radio.

Putting his weapons away he walks over to the nearby Humvee and finds the working radio.

"Echo team, come in. This is HQ to Echo team, respond." Steve heard the voice of a man inside the radio say. He took a look back at the dead BSAA commander's name tag, and then grabs the radio from its holster in the vehicle and presses on the button after perfecting his imitation of the dead leader's voice. "This is Echo team, Captain Mercer speaking."

"Captain Mercer, what happened?" the voice asked. "We called out three times already and there was no response."

"Sorry about that. We found some remaining Majini in the area that needed to be delt with." Steve said as he imitated the dead captain's voice. He had developed an assortment of skill over the years, while working for Wesker in the field.

He was nervous at first, still unsure if they bought it or not, but soon the voice came back "Mercer, has Captain Walker returned, yet, with his squad from clearing-out the Marshlands?"

"Yes. They report that there is no one left inside the marsh and are moving into the nearby village." Steve said.

"Very good, return to the Public assembly in the Kijuju autonomous zone for extraction. The other teams have already arrived." The voice of HQ said with its instructions. "And hurry! We've just received word from air strike command. They plan to bombard the city within a matter of three hours, so move it, double-time."

"Roger that." Steve said with a smirk, before dropping the radio down. He now had a means by which to escape from this place and could use to get as far away as possible. There was also bad news and motivation for him to hurry: an incoming air strike will soon arrive and devastate the area.

As he walked away from the Humvee he took notice to one soldier who was still alive. He then begins to slowly walk over to him, not bothering to draw his weapon. The man was no real threat to him. He had no desire to waste his bullets anyway.

"WH-why" the man said under his breath as he fought for more.

"Why?" Steve repeated, not fully understanding the man's question. Then the man begins to collect more breath before speaking again "Why did you kill us? Why did you cause all this destruction?"

Steve bent down on his knees and said "I don't know, why did you try to kill me?" he grabbed hold of the man's vest to hold him up "Our reasons are probably the same. You view BOW's as monsters to be eradicated, while we see you as a fascist army who would seek to kill us all; even if some of us wanted peace."

The man tried to speak again, but Steve cut him off "Your kind, the BSAA, hunted me for years. I never asked to be made a monster, but the second one of you sees me, your first instinct is to shoot and kill me. I wanted peace, I wanted to live my own life, but you and your kind will not let me." As Steve berated the dying man, he could see the anger in Steve's eyes as he spoke.

Steve never truly desired power. It was given to him, and he had no idea what to do with it. Any time he ever tried to make friends with a normal person, they saw his eyes, or watched his blood combust in the sunlight, and they would run away in fear; calling him a demon or a monster.

"You started this, not me." He said to the man. The dying soldier then replied "You are a threat the humankind, that has to be eradicated, or you will kill, and kill, and kill, until you finally die. That is all your kind is good for."

Steve looked angrily down at the man and said "Maybe so, but you'll never live to see our deaths." Then he grabs on both sides of the man's head and breaks his neck, killing him instantly. He took no joy in this act, only an empty feeling inside remained.

As he continued to look down onto the man's body, Steve felt something stir inside with more than anger as he said "It's true, what Wesker always said; Life is wasted on you Humans; always bringing your species one step closer to the brink of extinction with every passing day."

The young Tyrant then looks over to a nearby set of dead Majini that the squad had already killed before he arrived. He searches through the wreckage, and finds one motorcycle that was in better condition than the others. Setting the new ride up, he pulls back on the throttle and takes off for his next location.

Burning the rubber with his new ride and the dirt and grass road, Steve keeping his eyes locked forward, not wanting to stop for anything at all. He only had a matter of hours to escape from this god-forsaken place.

**Kijuju Autonomous Zone, an hour later.**

Riding through the Savanna, Steve had to take an alternate route to get around the mining portion of the zone. He then was forced to abandon his ride near the outside of the zone.

Putting a hand on his ear piece Steve once more tried to make contact with the other HCF operatives "Wilson, Vester, Sherawat. Is anyone out there? It's Steve Burnside. If there is anyone that can hear me on this channel, please respond. Any and all Hive/Host Capture Force still out there, respond."

Still there was no response, he was beginning to think that his worst fears have been realized and his friends were dead, or there was a jammer in the area blocking his transmissions and no one could hear him.

Upon arriving in the city he was unsure as to how he was going to reach the helicopter without causing too much attention. He soon realized that it was no longer a concern, finding that remnant of the Majini still in town were fighting with the BSAA soldiers.

Seizing the opportunity presented to him, Steve draws both of his pistols and wastes no time in moving through the town. His weapons were reloaded once before he started the onslaught, Steve fires his weapon on the two sides. Not wanting to give any soldier the chance to alert their friends to his whereabouts he shoots the soldiers by the dozen as the seconds go by.

He was good with his weapon and his aim, but his ammo could only last for so long. As he reached the public assembly, Steve was force to rely on one side arm for defense and soon utilized a weapon he took off the dead body of one of the soldiers, an M4A1.

Firing the weapon, Steve entered onto a town turned into the battlefield of a large warzone. The M4A1 had only one magazine inside of it, the same one that was in when Steve took it. The ammo was not ideal, but it was enough for him to get far enough into the public assembly to see the helicopter.

Forced to toss his weapon aside, Steve used his strength when a BSAA soldier came at him with a knife. Disarming the weapon from the man's hands, he lifts him up with one hand. He was capable of doing so much more to this man; he could have punched his arm through him and rid the world of one less fly, but instead made use of him by throwing the soldier at another two soldiers that were coming at him.

Coming to the roof of the small building where the helicopter was preparing to take off, Steve draws the only Samurai Edge that still had ammo inside of it and fires on two of the soldiers remaining in his way before running for the helicopter.

Steve barely managed to jump after it as it took off, his hand being the only thing that held him to his ticket to freedom. Looking down and seeing how very far he was from the ground, Steve quickly pulls himself up into the chopper.

He stood in the helicopter, taking a moment to catch his breath, before looking towards the pilot and co-pilot seat. Seeing that the two were unaware of his presence he quickly decided to take advantage of the opportunity and made a move for the cockpit. The Co-pilot heard him coming and made a move to aim his Glock 19 at him, but Steve punched him hard across the face before he had the chance to put that plan into action.

Before the Pilot had time to react, Steve grabbed him from behind by his jacket and threw him out of the side exit that he came from; sending him out and, thanks to gravity, plummeting down to earth, screaming; where he would die from the impact to the hard ground. Then instantly remembering there was no one piloting this thing, he rushed for the pilot seat, just hoping that he could still remember his flight training from his Uncle Jack and Lt. Stokes.

Not knowing for sure what to do Steve pulled back on the stick, and as if by miracle stability was restored.

"Never doubted myself for a second," He said to himself out-loud. Then the co-pilot started to come to, rubbing his head as it was still throbbing from when he was punched unconscious. Steve wanted to shoot him and be done with it, but his weapons were out of ammo and the weapon the Co-pilot had dropped out of his hand and fell out after Steve punched him out cold.

The Co-pilot knew he was at a disadvantage, even with Steve's weapon not an option at the time he was more than capable of subduing the pilot with his bare-hands, and the man simply said "You know you people can't run forever?"

"Yeah and why is that?" Steve said; interested to hear what the man has to say.

The co-pilot was smug now, knowing something that he believed would shock Steve to hear "Your insane if you think you can out run the BSAA….we'll hunt you down to the ends of the earth. Chris Redfield already killed your boss's and your organization is doomed now."

Steve was sad to hear that Wesker and Excella were dead, but only a little. There was barely an expression on his face before he spoke and reached for his tactical knife "Yeah; I may not be able to run forever, but my day to die ain't today."

Then he pulls out his knife and buries it in the man's chest, killing him in a matter of seconds.

Once that was done, Steve continued to fly the helicopter for another hour before he saw planes fly by him and a loud explosion was heard. He did not bother to look back; Steve never was one for holding onto the past.

He remained silent for a moment, contemplating how many names would be put on the epitaphs for those who were killed back there. Would there only be ones for the BSAA soldiers and citizens who died in the outbreak, or would the names of his friends be on there as well, he doubted it. He imagined the only epitaphs they got were a list of names the BSAA keeps for the "bad guys" they killed.

He did not want to try again, Steve was ready to give up on trying, but for one last try he presses on his ear piece; still clinging to the hope that one of his friends responding to his call might happen. "This is Steve Burnside of the Hive/Host Capture Force, can anyone hear me?"

For another second Steve did not hear a response, his eyes shut down in anguish; believing that now he truly had no one, nothing left in his life to give a damn about. Then suddenly static could be heard before it started to clear up and he hears a voice "Hello, Steve is that you? It's Caleb."

To hear the voice of Caleb Wilson, the point man of HCF, was truly a reason for Steve to feel alive, to yell at the top of his lungs with joy and to be thanking god and everything else. Steve then heard him repeat his words again and this time he responds "Caleb, you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice again."

"Same here man, I've been trying to get a hold of someone for answers and no one would pick up." Caleb said on his end, just as glad to hear Steve's voice as Steve was to hear his. "Where are you now Steve? I'm still trying to get out of this abandoned Umbrella town that Wesker sent me to, and I cannot for the life of me find a way to get out."

"I'm still in West Africa, but away from the Kijuju zone." Steve was toying with the controls of the helicopter, trying to find some setting that would give him directions "I'll come and get you just tell me where you're at."

"There's no real name for it, Wesker just calls it Far Point. It's a place in the middle of Colorado near west of the capital." Caleb could be heard saying on his end as Steve was still looking for a navigator.

Then Caleb says "Look Steve, I have to get moving now. The BSAA sent some cronies here. Just get here as soon as you can." Before Steve finished looking for the navigator and said "I'm coming Caleb, just hang in there. I'll be there soon."

With those final words Steve ceased communication and set course for the nearest BSAA fueling station, and then Colorado.


	3. Arkham Part 1

**Arkham Part 1: Storming A Mountains of Terror**

**Six Months after Albert Wesker's Death.**

**2009**

Bumping up and down in his seat, Steve found fighting the discomfort of the environmental debris the least pressing matter to cause him strain.

The advent of their expedition could only be described as the byproduct of pure desperation mixed with poor common sense of standards, in Steve's opinion, brought on by the H.C.F.'s circumstances in the recent months of fowl luck to follow Wesker's death with resources and supplies ever-shrinking. Ascending, or, perhaps, descending, even further into these mountains of madness; where a base of metal had been hidden among the ice caps.

Somewhere deep within Antarctic, where Lawson, a previously eminent authority for Wesker on the T-Veronica virus, and director to the Lazarus project—of which there was a sole "volunteer" submitted to the most abominable, unpleasant, experimentation and endured its insufferable agonies—had been last heard to have been re-stationed before Chris and Sheva drove their respective RPG's through her employer's head.

And so in coming to the cold region, where the outpost named Arkham resided, Steve found himself conflicted by the choice to not only come here with so few of their ever-shrinking numbers, but, also with these new mercenaries they had recruited and brought into their ranks.

Keeping his eyes on the suppressed barrel of his assault rifle was all Steve had to distract himself from the other passengers in his portion of the convoy driving through the harsh blizzard that made the mission even more hazardous.

Any positive disposition towards this mission soured into null-and-void, as far as Steve was concerned, when Archangel came from the front of their Armored personnel carrier.

Caleb Wilson—Known in reverence as Archangel by his men, fellow operatives, and now-dead superiors; and in anti-reverence by their shared enemies—slightly contrasted in appearance from Steve's fellows. Still wearings the predominate black garbs of his old soldier life: a military Operational Duty Uniform (ODU) that was shaded either a dark grey or light black, under a black striker vest and cowl, as well as black gloves and boots.

"Just a few more clicks, Steve, and we'll be near the mark." he said, almost glad for their small quality of time used up in these small quarters to reach an end. Carrying two one-edged short swords on his back, resembling ninjatoes (otherwise known as secret agent ninja swords), two pistols on his side, and suppressed, full-auto CZ-75's.

"Then we're one step closer to bein' done with this. Thank God!" He made no secret of his resentment to being forced to come along, even more so, towards those they were having to work alongside.

"Don't be like that…" Archangel wanted to argue, but debating felt pointless. The American Taskforce to contact them with the offer of help in exchange for the intel to this location were friends of a friend of someone Steve held a grudge against. Leon S. Kennedy to be more precise. He led the taskforce, on and off the field. For as long as Steve could recall, likely stemming from the possible lies Wesker told him during his indoctrination into the Hive/Host Capture Force, he hated Leon vehemently.

Claire, the one to watch his death, a woman he loved, had apparently started using his 'company' for comfort. Steve hated her for that, but slightly less than Kennedy. A factual source of hurt and abandonment; so once it boiled out of control and she moved in to seduce him, on Wesker's order, he was only to happy with the deed. Though in hindsight the action's ripple aftereffect only made Steve's training more difficult, Ada was more interested in teaching Steve how to seduce a asset and properly use close quarters combat than saddling him and jumping his bone. Was there even a method to properly train some intimate with his person?

His friend's response made Caleb's face tense up in reaction. "Keep your emotions in check, Steve—Tolerate them until we find your ex and the facility data, and whatever's left inside. After that, what happens to Kennedy and his people is determinantal, at best."

So he expected him to play nice with the vagabonds? The same people who, under normal circumstances, would be eager to line each of them against a wall and put a bullet in the back of their skulls. Under the pretense that they were Bioterrorists, no less. The idea of it seemed comical to Steve's imagination. Caleb had been leading them for five grueling-long months, now—since Steve rescued him from that abortion of a mission gone awry in Far Point, Colorado; and Steve had no desire to lead—it took long enough, but he finally cracked.

"Do you need a reminder, Steve? We don't just need man power to secure Arkham, but the notes on how to make more PG67A/W serum. Or do you want this degeneration to continue?"

The reminisce evoked a disturbing feeling that caused Steve to shudder and his skin to crawl with goosebumps. "Quit reminding me of that." he compelled himself to say and put a hand over the black skull cap covering his hair.

SIX MONTHS, it had been six months since Albert Wesker's death; and in that amount of time Steve had gradually begun noticing a change in his own eyes and auburn hair. His eyes no longer maintained their green form which covered his Tyrant peepers most of the time, unless experiencing an intense feeling such as anger, and strands of pale blond hair were starting to dot the auburn of his head.

Steve had hoped that maybe some his old contacts in Russia or the United States would be able to help him get more of the serum. That hope was dashed when someone began cleaning house by killing all those associates. Kara was his last hope...that and the AI or computer database kept housed in Arkham.

Another passenger's garnered attention caused him to focus slowly on their conversation, hesitant to speak at first; sitting like the quiet mystery kid in school. "That's it? We play brothers-in-arms, and then when it's said and done they die?"

The question had caused Caleb and Steve to both stir their heads to the man. Steve had little idea whether he knew the right words for how to best explain, to justify murdering their temporary allies, when he wasn't sure he could. He had killed hundreds of people before this, and committed acts he considered worse, in the name of what was supposed to be for a new world. Infinite doubt plagued him each time he pulled the trigger, and each time he told himself the same justification to get on with it—not this time.

But Caleb felt no such contradiction. "Do you have a problem with it, Deadshot?"

"No...Just not sure if I was reading my options the right way. Your orders can be confusing sometimes." their marksman responded with his head turning back to the bullets he had been fitting into his extra magazines. Caleb made a point to at least clarify one detail for both him and Steve. "We kill them if they try to double-cross us. If they keep their end of the bargain, then we don't need to shed blood."

The moniker by which they refer to him, "Deadshot," was all Steve and Caleb knew about their sharpshooter. He had used so many names and alias over the years— like Keegan Lawton, Floyd Dorian, Jace Saxon, Jace Miles, etc.—that it became impossible to know which was really his, and stuck to using code name since it was all they had to call him by.

Deadshot showed no relief at this elaboration, and Steve still knew that deep down he was. Unlike them, He was still a human; he could die a mortal death, unlike Steve and Caleb. He has sustained a wound, like any average person would. His right eye was an obvious clue—it was because of that he now wore a glowing red, cybernetic eye-piece that allows him to still function in the field.

Watching him fasten his wrist turrets, they soon felt their ride come to a complete halt in the snow. It made Steve pause and remember to check his own gear. First the assault rifle and then the two Samurai Edges that he normally kept holstered under his armpits. Unlike like Caleb, sitting across from him. Who only held out his solid, almost rubber-like, black and yellow fabric balaclava mask for Steve to see.

"Remember, once these doors open, you are Steve no more. He's dead, after all. Only respond to Zero." Caleb made a point to remind his friend cautiously, as he slid the mask over his face. Despite his tough act, Caleb had the best interests of his people at heart; and didn't want to lose anymore. They call him Archangel for a reason. Still, It was a notice Steve could have gone without. As he fit the ear-piece, that acted like a means of communication for their operatives, inside his earlobe, Steve had already put on the face of his Agent Zero persona. It was a simple trick that took him months of perfection.

Ready for whatever strange, terrible surprises today had in-store for him, Steve went on to gladly meet them. Yet, Stepping off with a bitter expression of coldness that could almost rival the frosty temperature they all, now, endured.

The soldier's of Kennedy's Taskforce (better known, otherwise, as Checkmate) were heavily coated for these maddening conditions. Hefting around assault rifles, shotguns, handguns, explosives and other weapons of unpleasant deaths that no human should want to willingly suffer at the hands of.

Despite his own protestations and personal bias towards the militarized group, Steve could silently note how impressive their operation truly was. Leon must have thought to bring everything they had for any contingency back-up. It almost made working with Checkmate bearable. But those were the breaks. Leon was easily spotted among the cacophony of operatives and talking. On the fringes of the soldier host, Steve kept a cautious distance from the blond-headed agent. As he and Caleb were beginning to converse. He doubted Leon could recognize him by face, alone, though Claire would have, most likely, mentioned a few facts about him.

Marching to his own steps gave Steve the time he needed for his bearings. Spotting a few familiar faces in the crowd. Not making eye-contact with anyone there. Six months ago, he killed several of the B.S.A.A.'s people in his reckless escape; slaughter so many that he lost count. So meeting some among this circus who have met him in the past would be bad for business.

After pretending to be nobody in-particular for 10 seconds that dragged on into feeling like what could only be hours, and pacing around, near the personnel carriers, Steve is gestured to come up front at the post where Caleb stood by Leon. He didn't want to go, or be near Kennedy, but he promised to do whatever was necessary. So he would, even if it gnawed and bent him.

"Zero, this is Leon S. Kennedy, Taskforce leader. Kennedy, this is Zero." Introductions were bluntly straight-forward, short and sweet; but enough for Steve to get some figure on Leon: dressed more lighter than the rest of his company with a Silver Ghost on his hip-side. He acted amused by Steve's name, nearly chuckling out a snicker.

"What kind of name is Zero?"

Zero—it's my name, and still fits after all this time. Steve mentally laughed as he laments on how fitting his moniker suits him. His life value spelled out for him in bold print, with no change since his days as a corpse. He hated it and was accustomed to it. Just like he hated Leon, but unlike his moniker, Steve had no reason to tolerate him. "It's my name. Got a problem with it? If so, Go screw yourself!"

Just because Caleb is his leader by choice, and expects him to play nice with others, does not mean Steve should be going out of his way to becoming best friends with Kennedy. Yet he recognized, in a sporadic way, he had gone too far. "You know what? I'm sorry, that was totally out of line. Let me rephrase it. That's my name. Feel free to deal with the confusion at your own pace and on your own time, of course."

Leon became flabbergasted and Caleb's cheeks burned with rage at the initial rude choice of words. When he rephrased it and apologized Leon seemed not to care either way, and Caleb was back to plain indifference. Seeing that it made no difference to him either way, Steve took the initiative to ask "Did you need something? If not, I'll resume my isolation; gladly."

Caleb soon began giving directives to him and Deadshot with equal focus before Leon could make a fuss or make a counter-remark. "Zero, you will lead on with the infantry grunts to secure the entrance. We'll be taking the hanger then join up with you after we're done cleaning up the inside room by room. Deadshot: you're on little bird duty."

Steve looked at them. The unruly pack of masculine grunts Caleb wished him to march on with were almost a mockery to soldiers everywhere, at first glance. Glorified testosterone. They were humans after all, so Steve put some slack on his criticism and knew not to act too disappointed by how degrading Leon's men were at being imposing.

Looking back at the two operative, without any intention of making a face that betrayed his opinion, he asked "Which one of these Merry Men would be the leader?" not certain where he stood among them. And hesitant to guess which in the pecking order he needed to stay on good terms with. The gloved index finger of Leon soon pointed to one in particular up-front. An individual that Steve partially recognized.

"Huntsman is the closest thing they have to a leader. You're free to act of your own accord—despite the obvious need for an attitude adjustment."

Taking his leave from the trio, right on cue, Steve met up with the scouting party as they prepared to depart.

For all his dour bravado and impetuous yearning to have the serum, he could not help the level of intrigue he had for Huntsman's face.

It was not like Steve found him attractive or sensually appealing. The past few liaisons he had had taught him a thing or two. Enough for Steve to know he preferred women. No, this "Huntsmen" and Steve had met before today; a long, long time ago. So long it felt like another lifetime.

He trekked ahead of the cavalcade, reaching the front within seconds. Pushing himself to move harder and faster so he could get a closer look. Accumulating a thin layer of snow to his mug as the icy pieces of white clung to his auburn stubbles.

When Steve stalked his way up enough to see a side of the face more clearly, he lost his words as he struggled to introduce himself. "Huntsman?" he finally managed to jerk free a word amidst his hesitation.

After he did, the young man registered to the word as he received it. While still half-focused on marching through the cold. When he turned to face Steve's direction he was pale and around Burnside's age; maybe a year or two older.

Giving no judgments in his gaze nor expressing distrust when he looked at him. Unlike the rest of his company, who disapproved of his presence immediately after noticing the glow of his cat-like eyes.

"It's Snow, actually. Damien Snow." the stranger introduced himself. Giving no negative regard for the physical qualities of Steve's Tyrant traits.

The cohesion of facts came together once the name was uttered aloud. Confirming this was whom Steve believed him to be: His old friend. It was a miracle he survived Rockfort, and more, to the point that he lived to become an operative.

Steve replied to the stunning introduction, reluctantly, "Zero." Wanting now even more than ever to not have anyone here learn about his true identity.

He and Damien had not spoken to or seen one another in a decade, since that God awful night—that Hellish nightmare made flesh and bone. Now, the two friends were scruffy older versions of the men they once were; and only one could recognize the other by sight and name alone.

The end of his travel was welcomed by Steve with enthusiasm. Reaching the edge of a tiny casym with a wall of ice and snow on the other side and Damien explained "Start climbing." before he helped his men prepare themselves for the enormous climb.

Having brought climbing spikes of his own, Steve was the first to jump on the mountain-side. Digging them deep on the solid surface; as deep as they could be lodge inside.

Climbing up rapidly, listening to his surroundings with his very acute hearing. It unnerved Steve hearing nothing; absolutely nothing. And that was all he need for him to know how right he was to be concerned. To people like Steve, made paranoid when nothing could be heard in a place that should be crawling with monsters, this could mean anything. He expected, at the very least, the scuttling of some miniature abomination remnants or animals native to the cold region where the humans were gradually freezing themselves to death.

Those humans were joining him in the climb. One by one. Digging their own climbing spikes to follow him up the mountain. Damien Snow being the first among them, and leading as the forefront of his people's ascent.

It became like something of a race between the two of them. A competition Steve had the edge in. Along with a head-start.

For Steve, this started out as just another job. His old friend tagging along was a bonus. For the other grunts, this could be their final mission. Destined to draw their last breath as a monster rips them into little bitty bite sized pieces.

The last time Steve entered here there had been an elevator to lead them up, with a long bridge extending over the chasm he had just jumped across. At the risk of enduring a long fall down, if he missed his mark, that would hurt. A lot. Now the only passage inside was through the mountaintop.

Impaling his spike down for the millionth time, they beheld the first glimmering sight of the metallic entrance. Find a grizzly on the mountaintop with the upper half body on and the lower scrabbling on the edge as he teetered in, pulling himself up.

Corpses littered on the blood stained surface of a solid layer above the icy snow before the door; which remained untouched. Judging by the gruesome manner of their deaths, Steve could picture this as the handiwork of himself, or even Caleb, or both.

One had their head liberated from their shoulders by decapitation. Another cut in half at the waist. Some missing limbs with bullet holes in their black uniforms. And others ripped to shreds or impaled by claws.

These men were no mere victims; no lambs for the slaughter—these mangled, ungainly remains were H.C.F., like Steve. Highly trained, experienced, disciplined soldiers and militarized killers who could hold off an advancing army for hours on their own. But what killed them could not have possibly been human. And if this was the work of what he was thinking, then where did it scuttle off to?

While thinking it through, and seeing Damien rising up with his fellows, Steve pressed on the earpiece; still eyeing the bodies closely and they way they had died. Or slaughtered, depending on how he words it.

"Yeah this is Burglar 1 to The Big Cheese. Operation Home Invasion has hit a snag. Do you copy?" Even if the situation was in serious, and possibly dire, circumstances did not mean he'd forego the opportunity for some humor to lighten the mood and rub it in command's face. "I repeat, your brilliant plan is already starting to give us grief."

"This is Archangel to Wiseass. Care to elaborate, blabbermouth?"

_How to convey this properly?_ "Caleb, I'm literally at the front door—staring at it, actually—With a short distance between me and it. Guess what's filling up the gap: A squad of dead bodies and severed appendages!"

"Interesting. Call us back when you're inside, Zero. Forget about playing hero, everyone may already dead." What Archangel said upset Steve: advised by his leader to forsake the lives of their own people remaining inside.

The depths to which Steve's stomach dropped was…...disheartening. Leon's grunts he could stand to watch die—except for, maybe, Damien. But to see his people, his brothers-in-arms, massacred so violently that it filled Agent Zero with unutterable loathing. It made him want to do something about it. Someone needed to be held accountable, and pay for this; and it made him want to kill anything remotely capable of enacting such brutality.

Jarring himself back to the present, Steve heard Caleb asking "How does the entrance look?" A reasonable question. When checking the metallic surface Steve found that the mechanism used the research staff to gain access from the outside had been rendered inert by the same entity to to slaughter the soldiers. Riddling the machinery with claw marks.

"Gnawed beyond repair and recognition" Steve replied while still unhinged as he gleaned the scope of how insane the mission was getting. "I don't think the scarab will help out end. Is there anyone still inside who can open the door for us? Because we're basically hitting a snag."

"No!" Archangel replied, breaking through cacophony of the harsh blizzard storm and static; continuing with "None inside have responded to our broadcasts." before hanging up on his end. _Everyone may be dead._

Steve cross-examined the panel and Caleb choice of words. Looking to inside before the storm. Caleb and Steve had no secondary means of opening the door. In fact, Caleb may have _even_ needed to consider going back, as he would normally, if not for the circumstances surrounding their current matter being a time issue. But Damien insisted his people could manage so Archangel ordered Zero to wait while they tried.

Watching as Checkmate's technicians connect various lengths of wires to several hacking devices with the scarab, one of Wesker's best means of hacking a system, Steve readied his M4A1 before he gave his dead soldiers a second review for anything. Something could still be scuttling in the ice and snow. The same something to kill the sentries rotting the cold.

"Did you know them...?" Damien asked. Joining at Steve's side while his men continued working. "You've been staring at them like _that _for a while now; making that disturbed face. You seem more concerned with them than whether we've picked the door's lock."

"Did you?"

Damien responded by replying "No—Not yet." The veteran agent did not shy away from the myriad of technical complications in their way; nor deny that they had a possibility of failure. _An honest pessimist to the last,_ had been Steve's clinging memory of him; a memory Damien continue to live up to with twice the vigor. Steve could almost appreciate the tenacity if the day was not starting so surly. "Than the answer's no—I didn't know these dead men here, I think. For all I know, I could've met them but my minds drawing a blank."

They felt the cold temperatures around them rise and fall with the tremor of their hands becoming worse and then less trying as their team stood in continued exposure. Global-warming had melted much of the region's caps of ice since the end of Steve's internment here to make it nearly unrecognisable to the eyes of someone who had seen it a decade ago. Only the cold breeze of wind remained the same; with the inclusion of a ghastly echo of sibilant hisses now in distant proximity. Steve knew of the many native animals but none made quite a unnerving sound.

Damien looks to him and asks "You heard that right?" Bringing his own weapon at the ready before Steve answered "Not good."

The sound of Lickers were unmistakable to the ears of a veteran in bioterrorism, and they multiplied around the team's position. Damien barked orders for his grunts to either focus on the door or ready their weapons. When the cacophony of gunshots ensued Steve fired his first grenade to kill some of the external brain-exspoing freaks and used the second to destroy part of the ice and sent most of the B.O.W.'s on one side falling to their death. Lickers took some of the scouting team before the double metal finally opened.

"It's open. Get inside, Snow! Now! Your people _need_ to get inside!" Steve barked. He provided cover with the teams rear-guard as he ran for the door; firing off his rifle until his magazines were out of stock and readied his Samurai Edges after getting inside. A small portion of the already meager group remained outside the door by then. Struggling to fight to the entrance by the time Steve realized they would not make it. Then the door shut, and all Steve could hear was the screams of men dying in slow agony.


End file.
